In my memory, I am in seventh grade, sitting in my science class next to a boy I like. The boy sits to my right. This is good, because my right side is definitely my best. At one point during the hour I go to the front of the room to collect an assignment. As I walk back to my desk, I am facing the boy from the other direction. That’s not so good, because it means that he’s seen the left side of my face. Now he’s looking into my eyes. He’s asking me a question, but he doesn’t use words. Instead, he takes his index finger and traces a pattern down the side of his own face.